Jean met and fell victim to Marie. Realizing what a cash attraction her beauty and charm could be made, he installed her as presiding genius of his gambling house, as a lure to draw youthful nobles to the place. Marie--or Madame Lange, as, for no known reason, she had begun to call herself--was the bright star at the Chance Goddess' shine. And the money poured fast into the crooked games whereby the house made Jean rich. For a time there was wholesale prosperity all around, with plenty more of it to come. Before I go on, may I quote a contemporary writer's word picture of Marie, as she appeared at this time? Her hair is long, silky, curling like a child's, and blond with a natural ash tint.... Her eyebrows and lashes are dark and curly. Behind them the blue eyes, which one seldom sees quite open, look out with coquettish, sidelong glances.... Her nose is small and finely cut, and her mouth is a perfect cupid's bow.... Her neck, her arms, and her feet and hands remind one of ancient Greek statuary; while her complexion is that of a rose leaf steeped in milk.... She carries with her a delicious atmosphere of intoxication, victorious, amorous youth. Voltaire once exclaimed, before a portrait of her: "The original was made for the gods!" Even as the cherry tree was posthumously invented for Washington and, perhaps, the apple for William Tell and the egg for Columbus, so around Marie in after years sprang up countless tales of her youth. Some may have been true. Some were palpable lies. To which does the ensuing anecdote belong? In the spring of 1768, during her sojourn as "come-on" for the du Barry gambling hell, Marie noticed, three days in succession, that she was closely followed on the street by "a young man of a sober cast of countenance and elegant attire." Now, to be followed was no novelty to Marie. And more than one man of "elegant attire" had sued in vain for her favor. Yet this youth made no advances. He simply followed her wherever she went. And in his absence his face haunted her strangely. So, on the fourth day, as she turned suddenly in the street and saw him close behind her, she asked, with affected indignation: "What do you want of me?" The man bowed low, with no shadow of hesitancy, made this cryptic answer to her query: "Mademoiselle, will you grant me the first reasonable request I may make of you when you are Queen of France?" Thinking he was a crank--as perhaps he was--she sought to humor him, and replied: "Certainly, monsieur. I promise." "You take me for a madman," he returned, with a second grave bow. "But I am not insane. Adieu, mademoiselle. There will be nothing more extraordinary than your elevation--except your end." He spoke and vanished, either into the street crowd or into thin air.